


Daemon Falls

by Once_upon_a_parker



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: BillDip, Billdip Week, Bipper, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_upon_a_parker/pseuds/Once_upon_a_parker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of depression and illness, Dipper finds himself unable to support his sick sister and himself. After attempted suicide, he finds himself in the arms of a stranger, who rescues him. But Dipper finds that the stranger isn't at all what he seems, and he finds himself in the twisted grasp of reality and the stranger's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy!  
> Find me on these sites:  
> @ deepseagirl-lapislazuli on Tumblr  
> @ once_upon_a_parker on Instagram  
> Thanks for reading!

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
@ deepseagirl-lapislazuli on Tumblr  
@ once_upon_a_parker on Instagram  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy!

The Red Abbey  
Chapter 1  
‘I find it easy to believe that there is more to this world than meets the eye… All you have to do is look for it.’  
\- Stanford Pines

Bill slams against the tree, gasping for breath.  
The frigid air burns his throat and lungs, daggers of ice, and frost crunches underfoot and prickles his back as he leans against the frozen bark of the tree. For a moment, it’s absolutely silent.  
Then there’s a gunshot, and the crows take flight with screeches and ebony wings, sharp beaks that seems to tear into the gray sky. Bill swallows, and his heart thunders in his chest, but he can’t seem to fight his smile. The hunt has always thrilled him.   
Around him the monochrome woods seem to burst into life, pounding feet, shouts, guns ringing and snow crunching under heavy boots. Bill stands out against his black and white surroundings, pale golden hair and a gleaming yellow eyes, the other hidden under an eyepatch, and pale skin and freckled cheeks, a nose pink with the cold. He swipes his hand under his nose and yanks out his sword, a crimson blade that drips blood onto the snow below. The men who were slain with it never had a chance, and Bill smiles to himself at the memories. Humans are so fascinating to him! Such soft skin, frail hearts, such delicate breaths and bodies that can so easily be pierced! The thought of the rolling eyes, the slack jaws and the limp hands is enough to make Bill shiver with excitement. How he wants to taste more blood and skin between his teeth! The thought of it makes him salivate slightly and shift his weight, tapping the blade of his swords against his black boots. Soon, they’ll be all his.   
The men appear, gunshots and the smell of smoke, shouts and stomping feet, heavy breaths and the whinny of horses and the bark of dogs. Bill grins and takes off, his flying steps never seeming to touch the snowy ground, the wind biting his cheeks and his long trench coat snapping behind him. He swings his sword, silver blade flashing, the golden handle gleaming in the faded sunlight, and a man screams and falls, a long tear in his chest, a pool of red around him, staining the snow. They’re all around him, firing, slashing, screaming, and Bill befalls them all, barely getting a workout from it. His sword snarls and slides between armor and ribs, severs skulls and tears skin, clashes with other swords with a sharp ring of metal. His dark magic thrills through him as he slows, turning in a slow circle. They are all dead now, limp bodies, slack jaws, staring eyes. The dogs tuck their tails between their legs and scurry off, whining, and the horses stomp and nudge their riders, trying to get them to wake up.   
Bill turns to the young boy who is stepping out of the brush, his eyes wide, his mop of black hair spotted in snowflakes, his cheeks pink with the cold and his fingers tinged blue.   
“Y-You did it,” he says in surprise.   
“Yes,” Bill responds, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “As our contract stated. Now, for my end of the bargain.”  
The boy swallows and rocks on his feet, shivering with the cold and fear of the man standing before him. “These thieves,” he says softly, gesturing to the bodies around them, “Killed my father, leaving my mum, my baby sister, and me all alone. I couldn’t forgive them for what they stole from us. I couldn’t…” His voice breaks and he wipes away a tear, warm on his cold face. “But now I wonder, did they have families too? Was killing my dad an accident? And now, the people who loved them will find that they’re never coming back.”  
“Thus is the bloody cycle of revenge, lad,” Bill responds, a quirk in his lips and yellow eye flashing viciously.   
“I wish I understood before,” the boy says to himself.   
“Too late now,” Bill replies, and takes a step forward, removing his leather glove and extending his hand to the boy. “And, now your soul belongs to me.”  
The boy stares at Bill’s hand hollowly and slowly reaches up, empty eyes, and he clasps it, rough and warm skin against his cold flesh, and Bill grins as the crows watch on from the bare trees above.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Dipper stands, breathing a hard breath between his lips, slapping the rag over his shoulder.   
“All polished, sir,” he says, and the gentleman puts down his paper, examining the shiny black shoes on his feet.  
“Well done, lad,” he says with a smile, clambering off of his seat and reaching into his suit pocket, handing Dipper a few coins. “Have a good one!”  
“And to you as well, sir!” Dipper calls before eagerly counting his money. A disappointing weight settles on his shoulders as he realizes it’s not yet enough, and his stomach tightens into a familiar ball of hunger. If he doesn’t die of starvation first, then Mabel will without any of the medicine she so desperately needs.   
He sighs and tucks the money away, looking up at the gray sky. A bird sings nearby, and the murmur of crowds of people and the clatter of horse’s hooves fill his ears as he leans against the wall of a building, feeling weak and tired. God, this headache is killing him! He licks his dry lips with a sandpaper tongue, breathing shallow breaths as he tries to think clearly. Begging doesn’t work here; too many people already beg and too many people are unwilling to even glance their way. No one will give Dipper a job because he is too weak.   
“I’ve hit the bottom,” Dipper mutters, folding his hands into his worn pockets. He tries to recall when it has ever been this bad, but somehow he and Mabel always pulled through, Mabel with her tailoring skills and Dipper versatile with almost every job given to him, it seemed that everything was well and dandy. Until Mabel got sick. Until Dipper gave her all of his food and lied saying he was eating. Until Dipper lost his job. Until they ending up in a crisis where there seemed to be no escape from. Dipper is beyond desperate. His twin sister is dying! And he sits here, doing nothing, too weak and miserable to help her.   
He grits his teeth, his eyes burning with tears he can’t shed. It’s like falling down a dark pit with no means of escape or freedom, nothing to grab onto, nothing to pull yourself back up with. He sinks down, wrapping his arms around his legs, his shoulders shaking with tearless sobs. There’s a fear that he won’t be able to get up again now that he’s sat, there’s the fear that Mabel is already dead, there’s a fear that he will continue suffering. It never ends.   
He opens his eyes, finding crows staring down at him from the eaves, waiting for him to die so they can dig into his cold skin, peck out his brown eyes and draw blood with razor beaks and talons. Dipper chokes out a laugh, dragging himself to his feet, taking wobbling steps and waving his fist at the birds. “You’re gonna be waiting for a while, you stupid vultures! I’m not dying yet!”  
The birds flap their wings, stirring up black feathers, and Dipper turn his back to them and walks away, his breaths ragged and his steps uncertain. He feels cold inside, his bones aching, his thoughts muddled and tired. No, those birds won’t be waiting much longer now. He knows this through his trembling heartbeats and quivering breaths, his blurry vision and slow thoughts, trudging through mud. The people go around him, staring and whispering, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues sadly, hiding their children and looking at their feet. He swallows, wobbles, choking breaths and spinning surroundings, blurred faces and the gray sky above. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, he can simply kill himself. He was meant to die under the sharp eyes of the crows, he knows he was supposed to, but denied his fate, leaving him stranded in a sea of confusion and uncertainty. Him being alive must be nothing but a burden for Mabel and this Earth; a useless amount of deadweight that serves no purpose.   
He bites down hard on his finger, the pain dull, and he’s tempted to scream in anger and fear. What does he have left? What is there left for him now? He’s just so cold inside…  
He walks towards the docks, the salty breeze sandpaper in his exhausted lungs and burning his eyes, and he looks down at the gray water, lapping the docks and gently rocking the boats to its unearthly rhythm. Yellowed foam collects on the rocks and tongues of seaweed clump and rot on the shore, discarded and forgotten, and he can see the numbers of flies collected on the wrinkled green surface, and he swallows, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. If he falls into the water, inhales the bitter sea and fills his lungs with it, perhaps he can escape. But without him, Mabel will surely get worse. But he’s too weak at this point to even be of any help anymore.   
He lets his feet slip off of the dock, frigid water that fills his nose and lungs, a bitter taste on his tongue, his heart heavy like lead. If he screams now, no one will hear. No one will pull him out. No one cares about a lowly kid already dying of starvation. He can’t work, he can’t bring home money, he can’t serve a purpose now.  
He falls into the dark abyss, murky green water above his head, shattered sunlight smiling down at him, an inky blackness under his limp body, unseen currents yanking at his body, tugging at his clothes, twisting and tangling his hair, kissing his bare skin with icy lips. His lips part, a gush of salty water, an eruption of bubbles, and his fingers claw and his body trashes against the darkness as it reaches to consume him…

“Open your eyes, lad,” a crisp voice says, and Dipper jerks his eyes open, gasping and coughing water out of his lungs, emptying it onto the ground under him. The sun seems bright, too bright, burning his eyes and lighting his eyelids red, and he rolls onto his knees, choking and gasping for air he thought he’d never be able to breathe again.   
A figure stands over him, face shadowed, and Dipper’s vision swims and his head throbs as he lays back down, too tired and cold to do much else. His chattering teeth allow few words to be uttered, but he manages: “W-Who are you? What h-happened?”  
“You tried to kill yourself,” the figure says, and then crouches down, their features busting into clarity. Pale skin, a constellation of freckles scattered across his cheekbones and nose like fallen stars, a single eye melted butterscotch and honey, a sea of gold tinged with hazel, his other eye concealed with a black eyepatch. A mess of curls and twists of golden hair seem to glow in the sunshine, and a long black trench coat flaps in the briny wind. He is not much older than Dipper, but he exudes danger and energy, stubbornness and cockiness, boldness and little fear or morality. The man extends a gloved hand to the boy. “’M name’s Bill Cipher. I pulled you out of the water you tried to yourself in.”  
Dipper snorts water out of his nose and shakily reaches up, struck by the other’s strange name and rescuing him. Dipper clasps the gloved hand like a lifeline, his lips quivering and his breath shaky. “D-Dipper Pines, s-sir.”  
Bill releases Dipper’s hand, standing and rolling his shoulders before giving Dipper an easy smile. “Boy, your lips are blue! Let’s get you dried off before we try out any real conversation, yes? Can you stand, lad?”  
Dipper tries to, but his soft knees give out under him, bones and skin dropping to the ground with a clatter. He gives Bill a strained smile. “I-I’d like to, but I’m afraid I can’t.”  
“Malnutrition, starvation, and a desperate suicide attempt? My, my, it’s been a long day, huh?” Bill gives him an amused smile. “Here, grab my hand, Pine Tree. I’ll pull you up.”  
Dipper once again allows his hand to be swallowed up by Bill’s, soft leather against his wrinkled fingertips, and Bill easily pulls him to his feet, supporting Dipper’s weight on his shoulder and securing an arm around Dipper’s waist, holding him steady. This close Dipper can smell cinnamon, foreign shores, sand and wind and sea, the tinge of vanilla, and he parts his lips slightly, drunk with it. Bill’s coat is damp, presumably from jumping in after Dipper, and it strikes him odd that anyone would bother to help him in the first place.   
Bill takes a step forward, seeing if Dipper can follow, and when Dipper manages to hobble along, Bill grows more confident, allowing Dipper to rest almost all of his weight on him. Sailors stomp by, busy with tasks at hand, and most of them cast shocked looks at Bill, not even seeming to notice Dipper using him like a crutch. Bill, Dipper realizes, is striking. That gold hair, the sharp yellow gaze that seems to strike you to the soul, the long coat and freckled face like scattered sand, boots that make a satisfying tapping sound on the dock, Dipper feels very pitiful and frail beside the powerful force that is Bill Cipher. Bill looks down at Dipper out of the corner of his eye, winks, flashes a smirk that makes Dipper’s breath catch and heart pound. Dipper feels his cheeks flush red, realizing he had been caught staring at Bill open mouthed.   
“You keepin’ up, lad?” Bill asks in a breathy tone. “Need me to slow down?”  
“N-No,” Dipper gasps, determined to not seem any weaker before the other. “I-I’m fine…”  
Bill slows down anyway, taking shorter strides, his arm firm around Dipper’s waist and body lean and warm against Dipper’s shivering form. Dipper can feel his eyelids sagging and sinking in exhaustion, ready to fall asleep in the arms of a stranger that saved his life. He’s just so warm and sturdy, like a lifeline in a raging sea. Standing next to him, Dipper feels a little less frightened and sleepy almost, relaxed and at ease.   
His surroundings swirl and blur together, a collage of mixed colors and faces, undistinguished bodies and rolling gray and blue waves in the distance. Dipper feels suddenly nauseous, and he gazes at Bill blearily, trying to focus on his face so he doesn’t risk puking.   
Bill stops, gently picking Dipper up, cradling his body and rocking him slightly so he’ll settle into his arms. Dipper’s face rests against Bill’s chest, and he can hear the whoosh of breath in Bill’s lungs, the thudding of a live heart; a steady rhythm.   
“W-What’d you do that for?” Dipper slurs.  
“Because you look like you’re going to pass out, kid!” Bill shakes his head, giving the dizzy boy a dazzling smile. “I swear – Don’t act so tough, kid!”  
‘Cause I’m not? Dipper wonders to himself, but he’s so sick, tired, and hungry that he drifts out of consciousness in the stranger’s arms.  
Bill gives the boy a secret little smile, his pale face, blue lips and fingers, damp and tangled auburn curls that stick to is moist forehead, soft doe eyes that swallow you in their depths, thick lashes and a skinny body from the lack of food. He’s a fragile thing, and the look of despair in those delicate eyes is what drove Bill to dive in after him, into the frigid and salty water of the sea and scoop the boy up in his arms and hold him close. His soul is something promising; rich with devotion and fear and spiced with grief and starvation, desire and anger, bottled up and shaken around to result in a boy that doesn’t know what to do anymore.  
Bill licks his lips with a smile. He just ate, but this boy’s soul looks so delicious and tantalizing that he decides that he can try to strike up a contract. Thankfully, it’s always the desperate ones that shake his hand.   
He approaches his home, a small house above a flower shop he owns, and opens the front door, a soft ding and the breath of fresh flowers. He locks the door behind him, and pads up the wooden steps, rocking the unconscious boy, whistling a tuneless song under his breath, passing walls decorated with old contracts yellowed with age, wrinkled spell pages, very old things that humans have not put eyes on for hundreds of years, and he walks into his room, gently setting the boy on his bed. His room is simple and organized; a desk with neat stacks of papers, a vase of dried monkshood, walls painted faint yellow and cream, black curtains and a black bedspread.   
Whistling, he quickly loosens his tie and casts it off to the side, undoes the top buttons on his undershirt and breathes a relaxed breath before slipping out of his damp trench coat and hanging it on his clothes rack before turning to the sleeping Dipper. The boy lays sprawled on his bed, clothes still wet, his mouth open slightly and his breaths slow and deep. What soft skin! What a delicious scent that wafts off of him, touched by the barest brushes of death and drunk with life and fear! What soft hair that makes Bill crave to run his fingers through, what delicate cheeks that beg for a thumb to rub against! And the soul is a thriving thing, glowing faint blue light that only Bill can see, spicy and sweet and tantalizing and makes Bill salivate slightly at the smell of.   
He decides, right then and there, that even if Dipper turns down his contract, he will get that soul one way or another.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Daemon Falls -  Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rescued by the charismatic Bill Cipher, Dipper wakes up in the stranger's bed, dizzy, sick, and grief-ridden. Unknown to him, Bill Cipher begins to make his plans for the young boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, but hopefully Chapter Three will be longer! Hope you all have been liking it so far!
> 
> WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy! 

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy! 

The Red Abbey  
Chapter 2  
“Once I saw this world for what it really is, my whole perspective is changed, and I never saw the same again.”  
\- Stanford Pines

Dipper is falling.  
Somewhere, high above him, he can hear his sister calling his name, crying for help, asking where he is when she needs him most. Tears fall from his eyes as he grapples with empty space, asking for her to help him, he can’t see, he can’t move! The darkness is choking him, hissing like snakes, sprawling and crawling down his throat, filling his lungs and making him gag, and Mabel begins laughing as his vision fades out. 

Dipper jerks upright with a gasp. 

The first thing he sees is the ceiling above his head; cream colored paint and strange inscriptions written in the color of blood, and his first thought is how anyone could have reached up there to do that. His eyes slowly travel around his unfamiliar surroundings; a shelf stock full of aging books and scrolls, walls covered in old parchment paper and scrawling and curling letters written by quill, old drawings and notes, dark drapes and a dark bedspread. There’s a desk with a neat stack of paper, a vase of dried purple flowers, and a pair of unfamiliar clothes at the foot of the bed. Dipper blinks, running a hand through his auburn curls, trying to sort through is fuzzy memories and remember what happened. His head no longer aces and his lips are chapped, his skin hinted with the scent of salt, his slightly damp clothes and his ribs jutting out of his chest and thin limbs, and he remembers, suddenly, the darkness, the silvery bubbles pouring forth from his mouth, and Dipper’s heart clenches as his eyes burn with tears he can’t shed. He almost died. No, he almost killed himself, trying to put an end to the desperation and blackness of his mind, the throbbing emptiness and fear and grief. To silence those voices, to quiet that paranoia and nightmares.   
He recalls Bill, his golden curls and eye, carrying him like a child, breathing soft words in Dipper’s ear right before sleep claimed him, and Dipper realizes he must be in Bill’s home, for that delicious scent from Bill’s skin fills the room, making Dipper relax slightly. He reasons that Bill must be a good guy since he saved his life and brought him here, so he must be relatively nice, right? Plus, and Dipper puffs out his chest slightly, he’s a man, so if Bill is a bad person, he can take care of himself. He doesn’t need Mabel here to stand up for him now.  
The door opens, making Dipper jump in surprise, his chest deflating like a popped balloon. Bill steps inside, wearing a long sleeved white button up, a freshly pressed collar, black pants, and the familiar eyepatch. The man beams at Dipper, making the boy’s heart flutter slightly.   
“You’re awake!” Bill says happily. “The medicine must’ve worked…”  
“Medicine?” Dipper repeats, and he’s surprised to find his voice isn’t rough like sandpaper. He coughs slightly, unused to smooth speech. “What’d you mean?”  
“I run a flower shop downstairs,” Bill comments, pulling a red handkerchief from his breast pocket and pointing a thumb behind him casually. “Good medicines, flowers are. You were sick, kid, on top of being cold, starving, and sad. You’re a mess, lad.”   
Dipper stares at the man, dumbfounded. What on earth is he talking about?  
“Put on those clothes, Pine Tree. You’ll get worse if you keep sleeping in damp clothes.” Bill talks as he digs in a drawer in is desk, clinking jars and bottles, humming softly.   
With Bill’s back to him, Dipper carefully picks up the clothes, eyeing them. There’s a white shirt like Bill’s, and a yellow pullover vest, a pair of brown shorts, and socks, all smelling so richly of Bill and starch and mothballs, and Dipper can’t help but press the soft fabric against his face, breathing deeply. Slowly, cautiously, Dipper removes his shirt, shivering as the damp fabric slides across his bare chest, sending goosebumps prickling across his skin. His ribs stick out, his stomach would be the envy of all the women forced to wear corsets, and his skin is so pale and sickly that Dipper has to swallow his nausea at the sight. Unknown to him, Bill raises an eyebrow at Dipper’s unhealthy form, the curve of his spine clearly visible, the spear of his shoulder blades and chest jutting out. Shallow breaths pass trembling lips, and Bill finds that his heart has picked up at the sight of the young boy, who’s struggling with the buttons on his shirt, his fingers quivering.   
Dipper shivers as Bill’s hands reach around him, pulling on the white shirt, doing the buttons with crisp, practiced movements, the single gold eye concentrated on the task at hand, and Dipper is blushing furiously as he vainly attempts to push Bill away, muttering softly, “I can do it myself,” and “I can button my own shirt, sheesh,” and an even softer whisper, “I am a man, after all.”  
Bill isn’t budged at all and begins tugging at Dipper’s trousers. “Hurry up, lad, I may have costumers down there waiting for me.”  
Dipper flushes an even deeper shade of red and looks away, his strength too feeble to even undo buttons and function with zippers, and Bill quickly pulls down Dipper’s trousers and puts on the shorts and removing wet socks, replacing them with dry ones. The boy’s shoulders are sloped and Bill pulls his head through the vest, soft fabrics that are warm to the touch, gentle hands as Bill handles the boy like a piece of breakable china.   
Bill leans Dipper back on his pillows, pulling the heavy covers over his body, and then disappears for a moment to reappear with a vial in hand.  
“What’s that?” Dipper asks cautiously.   
“Medicine, lad. You’re not going to just heal overnight.” Bill responds, handing the vial to the boy. “You’re weak and sick and depressed, so you’re not going anywhere yet.”  
“’S not too bad,” Dipper slurs.   
“You have a fever, Pine Tree.”  
“So?”  
Bill sighs and opens the vial, tapping Dipper’s chin with his hand. “Open up, kid. It’s bitter, but just swallow and it’ll be down quickly.”  
Dipper dutifully obeys, deciding it’s not very manly, but not really having a will to resist, and he winces at the bitter taste of the syrupy liquid Bill pours onto his tongue, and swallows thickly, laying back down with a thump. Bill hangs above him, his expression curious and puzzled, curls of blond hair falling in his freckled face.   
“Do you think you can sleep?” Bill asks of the boy, his voice soft.  
“Mm,” Dipper sighs, his eyelids drooping and his head sinking into the pillow. “I’ll try, no promises though.”  
But by the time Bill finally formulates a response, the boy is already asleep.  
The whinny of houses, the clatter of hooves, and the whisper of voices reaches Bill’s ears, reminding him that the world continues on around them. He leans back, watching the dust drift in the light slipping through the window, listening to the soft breaths of the sleeping boy, and the demon glances at Dipper, the constellation mapped out on his forehead, barely visible behind the curls of auburn, the flushed cheeks, the chapped lips, the fluttering heartbeat. Somewhere, in the depths of Bill’s dark soul, something quivers with anticipation.   
The soul is richer than before, pooling rivers of ethereal blue onto the bed, hazy and ghostly, smelling richly of something sweet and spicy, of grief and pity, pride and anger, the salty tang of the sea and the bitter residue of death’s touch, and Bill stares and starves inside, wanting to taste, wanting to strike a contract and make it even more exquisite, fill the boy’s veins with hope for a better future and send it crumbling back down again, and Bill runs is tongue over is lips as he turns away, gazing in the mirror as he straightens his collar and smooths the front of his shirt, dusts off his pants, and licks away the bead of saliva gathering at the corner of his mouth.   
In his reflection the man’s smile reveals the prick of fangs and his yellow eye flashes dangerously as he decides the fate of the boy named Dipper Pines, which will be very savory indeed. 

End of Chapter 2


	3. Daemon Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper decides he has to do whatever it takes to get back and save Mabel, even to strike up a deal with the mysterious flower-salesman Bill Cipher. While he thinks he can trust the charismatic stranger, he doesn't realize that he's about to seal his own fate.

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy!

The Red Abbey

Chapter 3

“I screamed for mercy, but the beast did not obey…But then I realized that in reality, the beast is inside of me, the one place I always lose.”   
\- Stanford Pines

“Kid, wake up. Come on, I don’t want to stand here forever.”  
Dipper blinks awake, blinking the bleariness from his eyes to peer up at the girl, who stands over him, shooting daggers from sharp eyes. She has a cascade of blonde curls to accompany her porcelain features and thin figure, flattened by the strains of a corset. She impatiently flicks her bangs out of her face, rudely thrusting a bowl of something hot towards Dipper.  
“Go on, take it, sewer rat.”  
It’s Pacifica Northwest, the girl who teased Mabel when they were little, broke her toys and dreams under her heel, cut into Mabel’s soft heart with harsh words. Dipper instinctively recoils, disgusted by her presence.   
“I don’t even want to say your name,” the girl wrinkles her nose, marring her beautiful face. “You’re lucky Mister Bill Cipher took you under his wing, rat. He could just have left you to rot at the bottom of the sea, where scum like you belong.” She sniffs and thrusts the bowl into his hands. “If I were there, I would have.”  
Dipper peers into the depths of the bowl, his stomach growling audibly. “Why are you here?” He asks Pacifica, trying not to visibly begin drooling into his bowl.   
“I work in the Red Abbey,” Pacifica responds as she turns away, splashing softly in a water basin that hadn’t been there when Dipper fell asleep. “It’s the flower shop under us, owned by Mister Bill Cipher himself.”  
“You work for a flower shop?” Dipper asks in surprise.   
Pacifica tosses him a glare that is venomous enough to kill small mammals on contact. “Mister Cipher’s one of the few people who will hire women and give them decent pay.” She returns to the bed, a wet rag in hand. “I think he hired me though to really just be a pretty face behind the counter. Not that’d I disagree, of course. At least I’m out of the wretched house and away from my mother. She’s always trying to wed me with suitors, but I don’t want to be one of those housewives who are only there to bear children and then take care of them. What kind of life is that? It’s enough stuffed in this noose of a dress let alone live with these stupid society rules set out for us.”  
She dabs Dipper’s forehead gently with the rag and he notes that her face is softer now, her expression a little more open, a little more honest. “And it scares me, almost, the thought of being bound at home and the husband’s desires. I’ll always be in the wrong even when I’m right, it seems. That’s the way it’s been, gender rules and restricting expectations.” She admits this softly, but she spits the word expectations like some kind of curse. She breathes a sigh and gives Dipper a century-old smile. “Sorry, it’s just the ramblings of the weeping. Pay no mind to me, and eat the soup I made for you. I pray Cipher is paying me for taking care of you.”  
She sets the damp rag across his forehead, frowning to herself, and hustles out of the room, her apron flapping slightly and her blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders with every step. Dipper watches her leave, and then gorges himself on the soup, finally filling his empty stomach.

Dipper leans against the doorway, breathing heavy breaths, his heartbeat labored and his body shaking with exertion. He’s tired of being cooped up, tired of causing grief to Mister Cipher and Pacifica, and desperate to see Mabel again. The paralyzing thought that she may be dead was enough to lurch the sickly boy to his feet and stumble across the room before he had to rest at the door in fear of passing out. His face feels hot while his legs cold, and his knees shake as he takes another step, and another, then vomits, spilling the soup he too quickly ate and filled his too small of a stomach onto the wood paneled floor. His stomach is tight and his breaths shallow as he takes another step wobbling step, and then he falls with a crack, banging his head on the floor and rattling every bone in his body. Oh God, how he hurts. But Mabel, he sits up, gritting his teeth, Mabel needs him. Mabel…he groans and his tears splash onto the ground below, bear it a little longer!   
He drags himself to his feet, takes a step, and suddenly he’s falling.   
Dipper screams and he hits a step, bruising his shoulder, rolling, grinding his spine, flailing his arms and legs, hitting his head again, the ceiling flashing by and blending with the staircase as he plummets, and suddenly he stops with a huff.  
“What on Earth were you thinking?” Bill exclaims, his voice a little tight and his eye gleaming like a cat’s as he glares down at the boy.   
Dipper lays in his savior’s arms, gasping, his entire body throbbing in exhaustion. “M-Mabel, I need to find her…”  
Bill sighs and slides a pair of glasses from his pocket on before glaring at Pacifica behind him. “Pacifica, man the floor for me!”  
“Is he okay?” Pacifica asks aloud, peering over her boss’s shoulder worriedly.   
“Don’t mind him,” he commands brusquely before pounding back up the stairs with Dipper tucked in his arms. Dipper’s too tired to feel embarrassed by the vomit on the floor, which Bill cleanly steps around, and in too much pain to thank Bill for catching him. He sags farther into Bill’s arms, breathing harshly.   
Bill gazes down at the boy, his heart pounding, his face twisted into a scowl. “Why did you do that, kid?”  
“I-I told you already.” Dipper replies breathlessly as Bill marches him back into the bedroom. “I need to see Mabel.”  
“You must be mad,” Bill states, setting the thin boy back onto the bed. “I’m sure she’s fine. What concerns me is that you almost broke your neck falling down the stairs!”  
“I don’t care about myself!” Dipper shouts angrily. “I only care about her!”  
There’s a pause as Bill stares down at him, his glasses perched precariously on the crook of his nose. Dipper glares back, his whole body aching and his eyes stinging with grief and anger. Bill breathes a sigh, and his expression grows softer, his voice gentle. “Then tell me, Pine Tree, who will take care of you if you do not take care of yourself?”  
Dipper bites his lip and looks away, willing himself not to cry. He will not cry in front of this man. He feels the bed creek as Bill sits down next to him, tapping the boy’s chin until Dipper finally looks at him.   
“Dipper,” he says, “You can’t be constantly worrying about other people before worrying about yourself. No wonder your health has gone down so far, my boy.”  
“No one would bother to take care of me anyway,” Dipper responds, his expression one of grief and broken hope. “So I just got used to that.”  
“Well then, we’ll have to change that.” Bill replies. “I’ll take care of you.”  
Dipper seems shocked by this. “W-What do you mean?” He stutters in surprise.   
“I meant just what I said.” Bill responds. His single golden eye seems to grow vicious and hungry. “I think you need some protecting, kid.”  
Dipper flinches away from Bill, who seems more animal than human now. He begins to move away when Bill grabs his wrist, holding him in place. Dipper makes a protesting sound in his throat, his eyes growing wide, his body shaking slightly as the man’s fingers tighten around his small wrist, bruising the fragile skin. Bill leans close, pulling Dipper to him till their faces as mere inches apart.   
“Tell me,” he says slowly, “You have some anger against the doctors who didn’t help your sister, people who would ignore you when you begged, medicine that was too expensive, people who threw trash at you whenever you were in a public place.” His eye darkens and his voice is almost a growl. “Do you want to get revenge, Pine Tree? To fix your sister? To fix yourself? To start anew? Say the words, Dipper, and I’ll give you what you desire.”  
Dipper seems frozen, shocked still by the man’s words, surprised to find that he does feel those emotions buried deep down, century-old anger, malnourished love, fear, panic, helplessness. He sees Mabel’s face, pale and thin, and somehow she forced a smile for him, telling him everything was going to be okay when it really wasn’t. But what could Bill possibly give him to fix all of the mistakes that have been made?  
“Y-You can’t do anything about that, though.” Dipper finally manages. “That’s out of your control, and you shouldn’t care anyway. It isn’t your fight.”  
“All you have to do is shake my hand.” Bill replies with a coaxing smile, removing his glasses and setting them aside. The boy seems so small, unbelieving and scared, so precious that Bill craves to eat him right now; tearing away the skin, yanking out entrails, cutting, slicing, making the boy scream and beg, making him plead and whine, making a gory mess out of him. He would drink in the exotic soul, feel it slipping and writhing down his throat, watch the light fade out of the boy’s eyes and hold him until his last breath, savoring the look of shock and horror backstabbing will do to him. How delicious it’ll be.   
He wraps his arms around the boy’s waist, pulling him closer, whispering in his ear, comforting him, promising to him, and the boy grows drowsy, his soul so tantalizingly close to Bill that he can’t help but drool at the sight. He can hear Pacifica complaining under her breath as she comes up the stairs to clean up the vomit, the sound of the clock tower striking three, the sound of Dipper’s breaths mingling with his own. The flower shop owner lays the sleeping boy down, drawing up the covers, and then leaves, drunk with the feeling of prey caught in his web once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had written these chapter beforehand and published them on my Tumblr, but I plan to get to work on Chapter Four. Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	4. Daemon Falls - Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill offers to let Dipper return home to check on Mabel, but what Bill doesn't know is that Dipper has his own plans.

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy!

The Red Abbey

Chapter 4

“I found myself hearing them during the night, whispering to me, calling my name, and soon it became impossible to ignore the riches they offered me: all the secrets of the universe.”  
\- Stanford Pines

Dipper is gently shaken awake, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and finding Bill Cipher standing over him, blond hair falling over his golden eye, his gaze dark and face expressionless. Dipper shivers slightly against the man’s stare, unsure of what he wants, unsure of he should even trust this man anymore. His words from earlier, shaking hands, getting revenge, it’s all just a confusing discord in Dipper’s head. He wasn’t serious, was he?   
“How’d you sleep, lad?” The man asks, his voice flat.   
“F-Fine.” Dipper stutters in response. He coughs, a rasping sound in his corrupted and worn lungs, and blinks the prick of tears away before Bill can see them appear. “I guess…”  
Bill looks at him, then stands, reaching into his coat to reveal the bottle of medicine. He pulls a silver spoon from another pocket and dips it into the liquid before offering it to the boy. “Swallow quickly,” he says brusquely. Dipper blinks, trying to decide whether or not the conversation he and Bill had was just a dream, and obeys, swallowing the thick medicine quickly.   
Bill nods, and sets the clean spoon and bottle of medicine on the nightstand before gazing at Dipper, a slight smile beginning to form on his unforgiving lips. “Do you want to go see Mabel?” He asks Dipper, crossing his arms and allowing the boy to glimpse the black tattoos imprinted on the smooth skin. “It can’t be for very long because you’re still ill, and if she’s sick there’s a good chance you could catch it too.”  
“I-I can just go home,” Dipper stammers. “I mean; I’ve pulled through before-”  
“You are sick, Dipper.” Bill interrupts him softly, a hand raised to keep the boy form continuing. “You can’t afford a doctor, and what will staying there do for you? I daresay that next time you find yourself at the bottom of the bay, I won’t be there to fish you out.”  
Dipper opens his mouth, then closes it, knowing that the flower shop owner is right. The idea of seeing Mabel is splendid, but he knows that after time he’ll be right back where he started; prey for the crows. But staying with this strange man doesn’t seem like a safe option. Dipper wonders vaguely if Bill is actually crazy; from his weird mood swings changing from one moment to the next, his sharp eye, his medicine, hiring a girl to work for him, touching Dipper’s waist and asking to shake his hand in a hushed, hungry voice. Certainly, standing over him now, Dipper can’t help but feel a slight prickle of fear when looking up at the man partially hidden in the shadows.   
“Then I shouldn’t be long,” he says, his resolve set and his plan beginning to form. He smiles at the man, who wears an expression of surprise, as if expecting Dipper to argue some more. “Thank you, Bill.”  
The name rolls off of his tongue like butter, making Bill flinch and his heart begin to pound harder. “Y-You’re welcome.” He manages to say, not bothering to try to hide his shock. “I’ll call a cab for you, I guess.”  
Dipper slides awkwardly out of bed, pondering his plan, pondering the expression on the flower-shop owner’s face. His bones creak like an old house, worn down, beaten up, wrecked, and he falls into Bill’s arms, which catch him easily, as if expecting it. Dipper’s stomach is a pit of hunger, but the thought of eating makes him nauseous, and the conflicting pains make his head spin.   
Looking up, he finds Bill wearing a gentle expression, the darkness he once held in his sharp face all but faded away. He gently wipes Dipper’s bangs away from his sweaty forehead, his expression being replaced with slight confusion, puzzlement, and he leans down, brushing Dipper’s feverish forehead with a feathery touch of his lips, warm and rough, and it only lasts a second before he pulls away again, leaving Dipper breathless in a matter of moments.   
“I’ll have Pacifica bring you some food,” he says, setting the boy back on the bed and not meeting his eyes. “Eat as much as you can, and please don’t try to get up again.”  
He quickly leaves, and Dipper stares at the empty doorway, his heart pounding and his head spinning. What had happened? What was that? Had the man really just touched his forehead with his lips? The spot of skin that had been kissed burns as if set on fire, right where his birthmark is. The pain laces through his eyes and stabs through his skull, both intensely painful and pleasurable at the same time.  
And this feeling, a pit of warmth in his stomach, the flutter if his already weakened heart, the flush in his cheeks, Dipper realizes that he actually liked it. He’d never been kissed by anyone outside of his family before. He never felt foreign hands wrap around his waist, pull him close, bruise his wrist, cradle him, or whisper in his ear before. For a moment, he considers backing out of his plan, coming right back here so he could feel the man’s hands and lips again, but then Dipper shakes his head, stiffening his resolve. There’s many things wrong with craving the touch of the mysterious flower shop owner. There’s the first and foremost fact: Bill Cipher is a boy. Being gay isn’t really accepted in this time, and Dipper isn’t even sure if he likes boys like that anyway. Secondly, he hardly even knows Bill. Though in his feverish mind the days are blended between sleep and waking, he knows for certain that it hasn’t been long. Dipper can’t possibly want the touch of Bill Cipher. It’s against everything for him to even crave it.   
He leans back on his pillow, breathing a gusty sigh. He’s so tired. His body aches and trembles, bruised and battered, still reeking of the sea’s salty tang. His head spins, his face feeling hot while the rest of his body feels cold, and Dipper knows Bill is right; he really is sick. Will he even be able to go through with his plan in this state?  
There’s a knock at the door and Pacifica strides in before Dipper even gets a chance to begin formulating words, her expression tired and her pristine blonde curls seeming dingy and tangled in the dim lighting of the bedroom. She stops at the side of the bed, a plate in her hands, her glass eyes examining Dipper, sliding up and down along his body.   
“Here’s some food,” she finally says, setting the plate on his lap. “And I cleaned up the mess you made in the hallway. Thanks for that, by the way.”  
Dipper sags in relief in the fact that Pacifica hasn’t changed whatsoever. “Thank you,” he says, gratefully, thanking her for more than she realizes.   
“Whatever.” She says stiffly, taking the desk chair and dragging it next to Dipper’s bed with a scrape. She tucks her dress under her body before sitting, her dingy curls falling over her shoulders. “To be honest, I think you’re really brave.”  
“How?” Dipper asks in surprise, tempted to mention that he almost killed himself, but Pacifica interrupts him before he gets the chance.   
“You were willing to drag your body out of bed to get to your sister.” She states softly. Her hands nervously smooth her dress, not meeting Dipper’s gaze. “You could’ve killed yourself, but you kept going because of her. I like that.” She pauses, seeming to consider. “I like that a lot. I don’t have any siblings, nor much care towards my family, but the care you have for your sister astounded me. Thank you for showing me that.”  
“Um.” Dipper swallows, his throat scratchy and his voice rough. “T-Thank you, I guess.”  
She nods solemnly. “Don’t change, Dipper Pines. Your personality makes you stand above all the others.”  
Dipper blinks, looking down at his meal; a meager piece of bread, a small bowl of soup with wafts of steam billowing off of the surface. Perhaps his meal had been downsized so if he were to get sick again it won’t make quite the same mess. He feels his lips curl slightly at the thought. Pacifica, though an uptight and bitter girl, is really a good person inside. He finds himself forgiving her for hurting Mabel, which is a stunning feat in itself. “Thank you for the meal,” He tells her, softly.  
Outside the window a bird begins to sing and Dipper look up at the young girl, shyly meeting her hard gaze. She gazes back unflinchingly, a shy blush collecting on her cheeks. “You’re welcome.” She says stiffly, and the door flies open as Bill strides in. His gaze seems to harden as he takes in Pacifica’s blush, drinking it in, swallowing it whole, and his expression grows cold and vicious.   
“The cab is here, Dipper.” Bill says. “And here, take this. It was in your pocket.”  
He drops the meager coins Dipper had earned polishing shoes onto the nightstand, the coins clinking and clattering against one another. His gaze is sharp as he turns to Pacifica. “You can go now,” he tells her curtly. Is that a hint of jealousy in his voice? Dipper wonders. “The outdoor bathroom needs scrubbing.”  
Pacifica scrambles up, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Y-Yes sir.” She hurries out of the room, though Dipper can her complaining under her breath all the way down the stairs. He looks back up at the flower shop owner, taking in the venomous look in his golden eye, written across his face. Bill breathes a sigh, digging in his pocket and dropping several more coins onto Dipper’s pitiful little stack.   
“This is for your sister,” he says, “So she can have food and medicine.”  
Dipper is stunned. “W-Wow, Bill, thank you so much.”  
Bill sniffs but allows a small smile to form on his face. “Come on, lad, the cab is waiting. I paid for the fare already.”  
Dipper sets his food aside, no longer feeling any need to eat. He’s going to see Mabel again! And his plan, which stood unsteadily before, has just grown more solidified.   
Bill helps Dipper down the stairs and into the shop, which is small but tidy and cozy. The air is richly scented but not cloyingly so, the scent just right as to not overpower your other senses. Flowers sit arranged in simplistic vases, purple blossoms, roses, tulips, white blooms and sunflowers, they all seem to reach for Dipper as he passes. The store is brightly illuminated by morning sunshine, filling the small space with a golden brilliance.   
“Your store is beautiful,” Dipper says, and Bill seems surprised by the compliment. He pushes open the store door and helps Dipper stumble outside, coins jingling in his pocket.   
“It’s all in the flowers,” Bill replies as he approaches the horse-drawn carriage, the cabby driver smoking leisurely on a pipe and nodding solemnly to Dipper. The two horses whinny and stomp, their reigns jingling and their hooves stirring up dirt. “Without them, the store would be dark.”  
He opens the cab door and lifts Dipper up inside, allowing the boy to awkwardly slide across the cracked leather seat. “What do you mean?” Dipper asks, curiously. “Isn’t it just all of the windows?”  
“My boy, it’s not just what the room is like, it’s what you put in it that counts.” Bill winks mysteriously. “Now, don’t stay long, we don’t need you getting sick again. I’ve already paid for the return trip as well, so don’t worry.”  
“But Bill, won’t it be more trouble taking care of me yourself?” Dipper asks.   
Bill chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip and then shakes his head with a smile. “I have plenty money, Dipper, and I’m a wonderful multitasker. I can take good care of you, at least till you get better.”  
“Wait-” Dipper protests, but Bill closes the cab door with finality, cutting off his complaints. Dipper leans back, feeling the coins in his pocket as the carriage rattles and begins moving, the flower shop falling away behind him. The cab smells of tobacco, alcohol and mint, the seats worn and the windows concealed with crimson drapes. Dipper carefully makes sure that all of the curtains are tightly closed before sitting back again, allowing a small smile.  
This should be enough money to take Mabel to Grunkle Stan’s house, far out of town and away from the creepy flower shop owner. And what could Bill do about it? If Dipper left, Bill would have no idea where he went. Perhaps getting out of here will clear up Dipper’s mind; sweep away the cobwebs of depression and the strange feelings he’s come to gather for the man.   
“I’m coming, Mabel,” he murmurs to himself, listening to the clatter of hooves and the squeak of wooden wheels across the cobblestones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait, everyone! I've been getting my novel published, and writing query letters and findings agents and publishers been super time consuming! But thanks for being patient, everyone! I need to get into the routine of working on it daily! Thaks everyone!


	5. Daemon Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper awakens the sick Mabel and convinces the cabby to take them to Gravity Falls, far from Bill, far from this town. Hoping Grunkle Stan will offer them protection, they leave quickly, unaware that Bill's watching.

s  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy! 

The Red Abbey

Chapter 5  
“I stopped trying to resist against the voices. All hope is lost for my sanity, but for the knowledge I’ve gained was, in fact, well worth the loss.”  
\- Stanford Pines

The carriage slows, the horses snorting and the wheels grinding to a halt.  
Dipper clambers out, leaning weakly against the taxi door. The sky is a soft baby blue, the air blissfully cool and scattered tumbleweeds of clouds shielding the sun. He takes a deep breath, trying to hold in the mercifully clear air. He wasn’t sure if he ever was going to breathe it in again.  
“I won’t wait for very long,” the driver says gruffly behind Dipper, making the boy jump in surprise and whirl to face the man. The driver taps his cigar, knocking off a bit of glowing ash onto the cobblestones. “So hurry up, lad. This is money I’m wasting on you.”  
Dipper looks up at the depilated tenant building, which looms over him eerily. A crow squawks, a far off dog barks sharply, and the air begins to reek of human waste and garbage, an all too familiar stench to Dipper. The windows of their building are boarded up and broken, the walls cracked and the front door hanging on a hinge. The rough ditch dug beside the building is filled with excrements and trash, floating on a thick slime slicking the surface. Flies gorge on it and a cat lays beside it, very much dead. After bathing in the luxuries of Bill Cipher’s home for several days, Dipper suddenly feels completely out of place in these alien surroundings. How did I ever survive before?   
He turns back to the driver. “I’ll be quick,” he promises sweetly before hurrying to the crooked door.   
Pushing it open scatters several rats and a mass of cockroaches so thick they appear like a slimy brown carpet wriggling and crawling away. There’s hardly any light inside, the walls corroded with moss and fungi, the wood deteriorating and the ceiling splotched with water stains, the plaster sagging and hanging low. There’s a rickety staircase to the left of the room, spiraling into darkness, and a doorway to the right leading to the first room.   
“Here we go,” Dipper mutters, taking a shaky breath before climbing the stairs. The steps creak and seem to sway under him, rats squeaking in the shadows of the beams above, spiders dangling on silver webs and various insects twitching in the glimmering strands weakly, feebly. He climbs two flights, the building silent except for the animals inside, though when Dipper passes the second floor he hears a couple shouting and then a gunshot, but that’s an ordinary thing at this point. On the third floor he climbs onto the landing and peers down at the ground floor far below, the dust in the air catching the faint strands of light before vanishing in the shadows again. Their room is only a few paces away. Dipper suddenly feels nervous, afraid of what he might find, if Mabel will even be alive. But there’s no time to get anxious because the plan relies quite heavily on his time spent here.   
So without a second thought, he pushes open the crooked door and hurries inside.  
The place they call home is only one room, comprised of a squat wood burning stove, an unstable table, and one bed, the single window too grimy to permit any light in. There’s a bucket in the corner for using the bathroom, a rusty metal basin for bathing and washing hands, and a cloth sack for holding potatoes that Dipper would sleep on beside the stove on the floor. Mabel lays on the lumpy bed, newspapers spread across her sleeping body, functioning as a scrawny blanket to cover her thin, shaking body. Dipper shoos a rat away and hurries to his twin sister, leaning over the bed and taking her small hand in his. The room is swelteringly hot, Dipper’s forehead already slicked with sweat while Mabel shivers violently. Her eyes crack open, unfocused and bleary, her cheeks flushed and face thin, and slowly those brown eyes show flickers of recognition, as if coming out of a dream.   
“D-Dipper,” she manages, her voice sandpaper. “Good morning…”  
She doesn’t know he’s been gone. Something inside of Dipper breaks and falls away, shards and chips clattering below him. He can’t tell her that. He can’t tell her that she’s been alone for several days, starving and festering, while her brother was breathing in the sea and being swallowed in a stranger’s arms.   
“Good morning, Mabel,” he forces cheerfulness, pulling a chunk of bread he stole from Bill’s out of his pocket. “Here, eat something.”  
“Have you eaten anything?” Mabel asks cautiously, eyeing the bread warily.   
“Yes, Mabel, I’ve eaten.” He gives her the bread, watching as she tries to chew the hard bread in her dry mouth, her eyes blurry and starved, fingers trembling and nails chewed down till they bleed. “Can you stand up?”  
She looks too tired to feel confused. “Maybe.”  
“Come on, then.” Dipper summons any ounce of strength he has and helps his twin sister roll out of bed, supporting her while barely able to support himself. He helps her shuffle to the door, letting her slide to the ground to rest while he catches his breath. “Stay put for a second, I’m gonna collect your things.”  
“As if I’m going anywhere,” she says drily, cracking her lips into a small smile. He turns away, pulling out her small suitcase and stuffing it with whatever clothes and rags lie around the room. He looks around and then whirls to Mabel.  
“Where’s Waddles?”  
She seems to think about this before pointing behind the stove. “There, I think. That’s where he’s been hiding.”   
Dipper examines the darkness before pulling out the soot covered pig, who squeals weakly, his dark eyes almost invisible in the charcoal smearing on his fat pink body. Dipper passes him to his sister, who holds the pig close, filth and all. “Why’s he back there?”  
“He’s been scared.” Mabel replies, “Plus I don’t let him sleep with me because I don’t want him to get sick.”  
“I don’t think pigs can catch human diseases.”  
“Well he’s not sick now because I kept him away!”  
Dipper sighs, reminding himself that it can be almost impossible to win an argument with a deranged sick person, especially if they’re your sister. “Whatever. Come on, I have a cab downstairs for us.”  
“A cab?” A sharp glint of intelligence comes into Mabel’s eyes. “Where’re we going?”  
“Out of here.”  
“Can we afford that? Dipper, we can’t even afford to pay the rent for this shit-house.”  
“Don’t worry,” Dipper says, comfortingly. “I won’t let anything bad happen to us.”  
The glint goes away, replaced by a heavy fatigue glazing her eyes over. “Okay, Dipper. I trust you.”  
She sets Waddles down and then slumps against Dipper, breathing shallowly. They take several steps, the tenant house creaking like some slumbering beast, the arguing couple quiet and the guns set aside like their disagreements. They’ve learned that there’s no reason to fight here, not anymore. There’s no reason to. If you end up here, you’ve lost almost everything; any money, any dreams, any scraps of hope and love. It makes you wish you could turn back time to fix your mistakes and prevent ending up here, but we aren’t kids anymore. We can’t play dolls and pretend and place bandages over bullet holes of mistakes. It’s over when you come here. The end of the line, the last page, the final chapter.   
Not unless you leave, of course.   
The two siblings hobble-step down the stairs, Waddles bounding behind them, frightening the cockroaches and rats away, revealing a corroded wood floor that was forgotten even existed. Dipper pushes open the crooked front door, feeling Mabel breathe fresh air for the first time in weeks; even the rotting stench is better than the festering reek of illness.   
The coachmen’s eyes widen and he scrambles down from his perch to open the cab door, ushering Mabel in. Dipper reaches into his pocket and pulls out several coins Bill had given him, heavy gold ones that glint like the flower shop owner’s eye. “Takes us out of here. We need to get to Gravity Falls as quickly as possible.”  
The cabby’s eyes bulge. “B-But that’s far out of town! A three to five-hour long trip if we’re going top speed! And Mister Cipher specifically asked me to bring you back to the Red Abbey!”  
“Please, sir, my sister’s sick and we have to get out of here!” Dipper pleads weakly, digging in his pocket to reveal several more coins. “I’ll pay for it, sir, and for you to keep your mouth shut, please!”  
“I don’t want to mess with Cipher,” the cabby says, looking away nervously. “He’s not the kind of man to mess with. The bastard is shifty alright.”  
“I’m sure if he knows how much we needed to get Mabel out of here, he’ll understand. Please sir, this is all I have! This is my only chance! She can’t walk much farther, let alone go on without help!”  
The coachmen shifts, swiping the money out of Dipper’s hands. “I’m not one to let kids like you just rot on the street.” He grumbles, pocketing the coins. “But don’t let us just go on without you being aware of what you’re doing. You may think Cipher is just a flower shop owner, but he’s a devil if I’ve ever seen one. May God be with us.”  
“Thank you!” Dipper gushes, tears pricking his eyes. “Oh, sir, thank you s-”  
“Don’t get me jacket all wet with your tears!” The coachmen exclaims, fending the boy off. “Kid, kid! Back off! It’s a silk tie!”  
Dipper nods, sniffling, and clambers into the cab, the coachmen closing the door behind him. Dipper turns to see Mabel already asleep, Waddles curled in her lap, and Dipper sets her suitcase at her feet with a small smile. The reigns snap and the horses whinny, taking off a full sprint, and Dipper easily turns his back to Bill and the flower shop and the bitter sea, finally feeling a seed of hope inside of his heart. Maybe this’ll go well. Maybe Grunkle Stan with help them, and even if he doesn’t, at least they’ll be out of there. Out of the ‘shit-house’. Out of this hellhole of a town.   
Dipper leans back on the cracked seat, breathing a relieved sigh for the first time in months.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Bill stands at the counter of his shop, looking hard out the window. Maybe it’s just taking longer than he expected. But he feels cautious and angry, impatient and hungry, confused on why Dipper agreed so swiftly, why he smiled at him like that. This isn’t right.  
Maybe he should’ve treated Dipper like he would with other prey; shackling them in his basement, torturing them, making them bleed, giving them nightmares, entertaining himself and eating at them little by little. Yes, he’s done very bad things to his meals in that basement, bound to the grimy wall by glinting silver shackles, bleeding and scarred, salivating and sweating, cheeks tinted with blush and bodies jerking weakly, feebly.   
How Bill wanted to do those things to Dipper.   
Pacifica hurries inside the shop, eyes wide, face red from running. He’d sent her after Dipper to make sure the boy was safe, but why is she here without him?  
“He’s gone,” Pacifica gasps, “He left town!”

End of Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this was a lot. Hope you guys like it, and I hope to put the next chapter up next week or soon if possible! Thanks everyone!


	6. Dameon Falls Chapter 6 - The Red Abbey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping from Bill Cipher, Dipper finds that though he wanted to be free, he's more trapped than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, this took waaaaaaayyyyy too long, way longer than it deserved, but I had to deal with personal problems and technology restrictions from my parents that prohibited me writing... But I hope this'll kind of make up for it?? XD Thanks for your patience, kudos, and comments, everyone!! It makes my day!!

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy! :D

The Red Abbey

Chapter 6

“I met a creature of unknown strength and power, who has others cower beneath him and trade their flesh and souls in exchange for him to make one of their dreams come true. But, as I quickly learned, not all monsters can be trusted, I one who falls into that category, because he’s inside of me, too….”  
\- Stanford Pines

The city falls away, the filthy alleyways and hunched buildings turning into slumped hills and rolling farmland, the fields dotted with cows and sheep and goats. Dipper can feel his tense shoulders relax and sag, his stressful expression melting away into one of relief. He knows Bill Cipher probably meant well (maybe?) and was only trying to help (supposedly), but being around him, Dipper felt drugged, mind in thick glaze, craving his touch, craving to hear his voice. Bill Cipher can’t be trusted. Being around him, Dipper can’t think straight, his mind muddled, and it makes Bill the enemy, dangerous, and even more alluring than before.   
The cab jerks and rumbles on the jagged road, but Dipper doesn’t mind whatsoever. Looking out at the wide, earnest sky, the distant forests, the faraway buildings of the crowded city, the waves of farmland reaching and sprawling from the horizons, he’s lost by it, by the sense of freedom, by the sense of belonging.  
Dipper closes his eyes, leaning against Mabel’s feverish neck, and the darkness quickly swallows him, as if it’s been waiting to do so.   
And for the first time, Dipper dreams about Bill.   
The blond-haired man is standing in the darkness, his shirt off, muscles straining on his chest and his golden eye seeming to be on fire itself as he picks up a sharpened ax, his face concentrated, his lips quirked ever so slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice Dipper standing off to the side, the boy’s eyes wide as he takes in Bill’s muscular form that was cleverly hidden under ironed and pressed shirts and bowties.   
Bill chuckles softly, testing the ax on his hand, the blade neatly slicing open his palm like a knife in butter. Red blooms from his pale hand, dropping petals of blood onto the floor below, splattering it in crimson, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, his attention drawn instead to a certain patch of shadows, amusement sparking on his expression. “Rise and shine, Shooting Star,” the man says, “It’s show time.”  
The lights turn on, revealing a brick room, blocked away from all sunshine and daylight, illuminated by several lamps and candles and tossing shadows strangely around the room. There are several shelves, a work table, tools hanging from the walls, the room almost resembling a fairly used basement.   
Then Dipper begins to see the things on the floor and walls, splatters of deep red, bloody handprints slapped against brick, painstakingly-polished shackles hanging from the walls. And on a single metal gurney Mabel lies there, strapped down, bound, and gagged, treated like an animal and anything but human. She’s still noticeably sick, her eyes glazed and faraway, her body thin and worn to the bone, ravaged by disease. Waddles’ body lies in the corner, whipped to a bloody pulp, long dead, long forgotten, his blood mingling with the other stains on the floor.  
Dipper stumbles back, eyes wide, body shaking. What is this? What is going on? What is he seeing, a nightmare unfolding and unfurling before him? The boy stands frozen as Bill sways his hips and then swings down the ax, a shining silver arc, and the blade slices into his twin sister, spraying a cascade of red, so much that it can’t be real, this can’t be real…  
Bill pulls the ax away, Mabel’s screaming tearing the air itself, and he turns and looks directly at Dipper, a smirk on his face. “You’ll regret running away, Pine Tree.”

Dipper jerks upright with a cry, jarring Mabel and Waddles awake in the process. Sweat coats his forehead and his palms are hot and sticky, though he somehow feels cold despite the sweat on his shivering body. Pale moonlight peeks through the velvet curtains and Dipper can’t help it, the closed confines make him feel sick and dizzy, the stench of blood still filling his nose.   
“M-Mabel,” he croaks, feeling his sister’s face and checking for any signs of wounds. “Are you okay?”  
“Dipper,” Mabel swats away his hands, “Dipper, I’m fine. You just had a bad dream.”  
Waddles heaves himself off of the seat and walks over to Dipper, sticking his wet nose into Dipper’s sweaty hands and sniffling in an almost comforting way. Dipper takes a breath, scratching the pig’s head, both feeling relieved and worried at the same time. “I-I know, it just felt so real.”  
Mabel pushes the curtains away and lets in the blush of starlight, illuminating the interior of the taxi just enough so they can see each other, at least vaguely. Forest and rolling greenery passes the cab, the road having become less worn and more rugged than before Dipper closed his eyes. Mabel takes a shaky breath, her lungs rattling with the effort. “Well, it was just a dream, Dip-stick. So don’t worry about it.”  
Dipper nods and helps Waddles back onto the chair so he can sit next Mabel and leans back, breathing a sigh. That nightmare had felt so real, the musty air of the basement, the sound of his sister’s scream, and he can’t help it, he’s insides ball up with fear and horror again. The cab jerks over a rock and the horses whinny in response, the cabmen’s brief shout muffled by the cab roof. Dipper feels terrible, but the world just marches along whether it has to drag him in the dust or not. 

The sun is just beginning to rise when the cab clatters through the woods and to a stop, the woods alive with noise and the sun a buttery lump through the frost-bitten trees. Dipper sits stiffly in his seat, his eyes underlined with bags and his heart pounding at the slightest movement or noise. Every time he began to fall asleep the nightmares struck him, killing his loved ones one by one, and Dipper is afraid that if he even blinks the terror will be on him again. And after leaving Bill without thanking him for saving him or feeding him, Dipper can’t help but feel guilty and hungry for Bill’s presence, though his nightmares are feeding that lust in some twisted way.   
The cabby opens the door, his old face red from the chilly morning, and when he breathes his words form a cloud in front of his face, frost glittering on his facial hairs. “We’ve made it,” he says, “We’re here at Gravity Falls.”  
Dipper helps Mabel slide out and land on the frozen grass with a crunch, Waddles leaping after her. The cabby then helps Dipper out, his strong hands hefting the skinny boy out of the car and setting him on the ground as well. “Just be safe,” he instructs Dipper, setting Mabel’s suitcase on the ground. “You’re so young, and this world is such a scary place, just be careful.”  
“Thank you,” Dipper says, and the coachmen nods before clambering onto the cabby and snapping the reigns, causing the horses to leap back into a run and pull the carriage into the mist, the sound of the hooves and wheels quickly fading out as if swallowed by the woods. Dipper is glad he didn’t tell the man that he dreamed that he died, too. He wouldn’t deserve that. And it wasn’t just Bill killing, either, the man would step behind Dipper, letting their bodies touch, and place a weapon in the boy’s hands, showing him how to do it, breathing on his neck, smelling richly of blood and desire, pull the trigger, make the blade slice the air, paint the basement with crimson and Bill’s laughter. And the fact that Dipper didn’t resist and actually somewhat enjoyed it makes the nightmares even worse.   
“So, why are we here?” Mabel asks softly, turning around to gaze up at the Mystery Shack, the old worn structure seeming to loom out of the trees.   
“To get you help,” Dipper replies, gazing around the familiar woods. “Maybe with this we will able to get a fresh start.”  
“Does Grunkle Stan know we’re here?” Mabel asks, and she sounds more awake, more alive than before. “Did you send him a letter or telegram?”  
“No, but he’s family, so he should be fine with it.” A crow caws in the shadows of the trees, but Dipper can feel its eyes on him. “Come on, it’s cold out here.”   
Mabel smiles wanly, the glow in her eyes fading out and replaced by the foggy, distant look. Dipper takes her hand and leads her among the trees, a wooden building rising out of the mist and standing among the towering pines. Mystery Shack is spelled across the roof, the windows illuminated with kerosene lamps, smoke spilling from the chimney. Dipper guides Mabel to the doorway, knocking on the heavy door while Waddles sniffs at the hooves of a curious goat and crows chatter in the spindly boughs of overhead trees. There’s a muffled shout and then the door creaks and complains as it’s pushed forward, revealing a gangly girl with long red hair and rough, work-worn hands, her eyes seeming to glitter with mischief.   
“Stan! There’s a bunch of kids here for you!” She hollers behind her, then winks at the twins, a crooked smile illuminating her face. “He’s always grouchy in the mornings, so be warned.”  
“We know all too well,” Dipper explains before Stan appears, a hunched and slightly overweight man dressed in a suit and tie, one of his eyes hidden behind a black eyepatch, instantly sending an image of Bill racing through Dipper’s mind. He grunts, pushing the red-headed girl away so he can squint down at the twins standing outside of the door.   
“What’d you want?” He says flatly. “I don’t need no fancy contraption either, so if that’s what you’re here for, you can just leave now.”  
“Grunkle Stan, it’s us, Dipper and Mabel.” Dipper protests as their great uncle threateningly waves his cane at them. “It’s been a few years…”  
“Ya didn’t even send me a note?” The old man seems to grow even more annoyed. “I coulda at least had Wendy make up the beds or somethin’…”  
“Oy!” The red-haired girl complains from the other side of the door. “What am I, a maid?”  
Their Grunkle decidedly chooses not to answer and narrows his eyes down at the siblings. “I never thought I’d see you two again, either. Have you been well, then?”  
Mabel coughs sharply and Dipper offers a weak smile. “Hardly, Grunkle. That’s why we came, I hoped you could help us…”  
“I’m afraid we’re tight on money here, but since yer family I could loosen up a bit…” Grunkle sighs and massages his jaw, looking tired and worried. “Poor Wendy hasn’t gotten payed in a while now…”  
“Naw, it’s fine, Stan. I like hanging around here, you don’t yell at me for not wanting to where corsets or dresses.” Wendy says from behind their Grunkle. “But I’ll make up some beds now, but not ‘cuase you told me to, but on my own free will, got that?”  
“Sure, sure, Wendy.” Stan coughs a laugh and steps to the side to let his niece and nephew inside, but before closing the door he gazes warily around the surrounding woods, his hand tightening around his cane before he closes the door, locking it behind him.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where did the boy go?” Bill shouts, the blade pressing up against the cabby’s throat. “Where did you take them?”  
“That’s none of your business, Cipher.” The cabby spits. “But they’re safe now, and away from you. Leave them alone, they’re just kids!”  
Bill viciously hack away one of the man’s arms, cutting through the tendons, the veins, the muscle, the bone, throwing the dismembered limb aside, the cabby’s scream tearing the air of the basement. Bill hoped the nightmares would bring Dipper back home, scare him into coming back, but it hadn’t been quite enough. “It’s all your fault, you bastard…”  
The cabby’s screaming doesn’t cease until Bill stands over his corpse, the coins given to him by Dipper sitting in his bloody hand, skin caught between his teeth and blood smeared across his pale hands, his mouth a twisted sneer.   
“Everyone you touch, Pine Tree,” he hisses, “Will die…”

End of Chapter 6


	7. The Red Abbey - Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After safely making it to Gravity Falls, Dipper finds that their troubles have hardly begun, and that there's something frightening manifesting inside him that he wants no part in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I"m so sorry this took so long, but I hope this chapter proves satisfying for now! Thanks for staying with me all this time, all! Your support, comments, and kudos mean a lot to me!

Daemon Falls  
Gravity Falls fanfiction  
Dipper x Bill  
Written by Parker Dodson  
@ deepseagirl-lapislazuli on Tumblr  
@ once_upon_a_parker on Instagram  
\------------------------------------------------  
WARNING! Contains gore, violence, torture, alcohol abuse, cannibalism, love, mystery and adventure, suicide attempts, depictions of death, depression, demons, angels, spells and magical beings. Enjoy! :D

The Red Abbey  
Chapter 7  
“There is nothing left of me to save anymore…”  
\- Stanford Pines

Dipper sits on a stool, watching Wendy go about her work as the afternoon sunshine slants inside the dusty room. He’s given up on trying to sleep, but the exhaustion and without seeing Bill is taking its toll, as well as his weak body, disease, and dark thoughts, all storming over him and sneering viciously. So he watches, waits, hurts, and listens to the birds sing outside the windowpane…  
“Um, Dipper, you okay? You seem out of it.” Wendy jerks Dipper out of his reverie, her words cautious and a slight look of concern crossing her expression. “Maybe you should be in bed with Mabel.”  
He shakes his head slightly, as if to clear his mind. “No, I’m alright. Thanks though.”  
Wendy straightens, resting the rag she holds over her shoulder, one hand on her hip in an almost defiant gesture. “Uh-huh. Quit being the white knight, Dipper. I know something’s up when I see it.”  
He looks away, swallowing thickly. It seems no matter how many times he may rinse out his mouth or swallow, he can’t seem to get the taste of blood off his tongue. “Whatever,” he says, flippantly. “I’m fine.”  
Wendy grunts and turns back to the room she was cleaning, clearing out all of the old junk; moldy cardboard boxes, moth-eaten suits and ties, loose change and dolls and discarded toys, all being heaped into the hallway outside the door. The window was covered with grime and overgrown with ivy on the outside, which Wendy quickly cleared, complaining that even she doesn’t like such a dark and depressing room. With the sunshine spilling in and the rubbish cleared away, it’s beginning to show signs of being an actual room, albeit a hardly used one. The wallpaper, once a minty green color, has faded and yellowed, the carpet nasty and worn through, and the ceiling damp and sagging in the corners. But, where Dipper sees a mess, Wendy must see personality, because her eyes seem to glow as she looks it over.   
“Look at this, Dipper! A little elbow grease, and this’ll become prettier than the ballrooms!”  
Dipper raises an eyebrow, feeling tired and irritable and not sharing her enthusiasm. “What does Stan want this room for?”  
“Me,” Wendy says proudly, grinning widely. “He’s a tough man, but has a good heart. Because he can’t pay me he’s giving me boarding and food. It’s a lot more than I deserve.”  
“This is going to be yours?”   
“Yup. Once I get it all scrubbed out, it’ll be as good as new.”  
There’s a knock and the two turn to the doorway, finding a large man peering inside. His eyes land on Dipper and he shouts, yanking the boy into a painfully tight hug. “Dipper! Is it really you, lad?!”   
“S-Soos,” Dipper manages to croak, “R-Release…”  
“Oh, sorry,” he lets go, dropping Dipper to the ground. “I never thought I’d see you again.”  
“Yeah, me neither,” Dipper mutters, feeling the salty water of the ocean brushing his lungs, seeing the sharp eyes and jagged beaks of the crows, and he can’t help it but shudder slightly.  
“How’s Mabel doing?”   
“I haven’t checked her this morning,” Dipper explains, feeling a sight pang of guilt. “But I doubt she’s made much improvement.”  
“Don’t be so negative! Maybe the change of scenery improved her!” Soos exclaims with his trademark goofy smile. It must be impossible for the man to be unhappy. “Breakfast will be ready soon, Stan wanted me to come let you guys know.”  
Wendy blanches. “Stan cooked this morning? I don’t think I can handle another one of his diabolic creations again.” She whispers to Dipper in a somewhat sickly tone; “One time he cooked duck for dinner and it was a sea of grease; the poor bird nearly slid off the plate! I’ll eat everything put in front of me, but even I said no to that.”   
Dipper laughs softly, the noise sandpaper in his throat. “I remember one time he tried to make us matzo balls, but they turned out really gluey and looking partially like submerged livers.”  
Wendy laughs. “He means well, though. We all kind of force ourselves to eat it for him.”  
“He made pancakes this morning.” Soos reports cheerfully. “They’re burned at the bottoms and uncooked in the middle, but good nonetheless. I got the test pancake.”   
“Delightful,” Wendy breathes, but she’s smiling despite her sarcastic tone. “Dipper, do you want me to grab Mabel or should you…?”  
Dipper’s expression clouds slightly, something flickering in his brown eyes, something sharp and hard. "I'll get her, I suppose. I can handle seeing her again.”  
“If you’re sure,” Wendy says, and she shares an uncomfortable look with Soos before walking out of the room, the two casting worrisome glances back at Dipper. He stands alone for a moment in the cleaned room, his gaze sharp, his mouth pulled into a frown. Bill never looked at him like that, like he should be cradled, like he’s unable to take care of himself, patronizing him with that look that those two just gave him. He can smell Bill in the room, on his clothes, lingering on his skin, that hauntingly familiar scent that makes his head spin. He wishes Bill were here, holding him, brushing his lips on his forehead, but he’s gone, Dipper left him, and he can only see him in his dreams.   
Dipper would give anything to see him again, even if it meant hurting those he loved.   
He ponders this as he goes up the stairs, his steps heavy. His whole body craves Bill; from his fingers down along his spine, arms and legs. He’s trapped.   
And he loves it.  
While Mabel recovered in the attic bedroom Dipper slept on the couch, and he hasn’t been up to see her since they arrived yesterday morning and he had helped her up the stairs. Maybe he’s avoiding her because seeing her like that scares him. Maybe he hasn’t come up because he sees her soaked in blood every time he blinks. He still hears her screams when he can’t hear anything else.   
He pushes open the wooden door leading to the attic, which had at first released a cloud of dust yesterday, but now only releases sunshine through. He peers inside, seeing Waddles waiting just inside the door for him, his little curled tail almost waving like a dog’s. He oinks, thoroughly pleased to see Dipper, but the boy pushes past almost carelessly, not looking back.   
“The whole world is in your grasp, Dipper,” Bill murmured in his ear, his hands lingering on Dipper’s hips, “Just reach out and take it…”  
Dipper gently shakes Mabel awake, and he swears that he can hear Bill’s sigh resounding in his head as she wakes up, as if he was disappointed with him, as if he wanted Dipper to keep her from waking up, keep from ever opening her eyes again. He’s not sure why, but Dipper feels a slight pang knowing he’s disappointed him…  
Mabel opens her eyes, blinks blearily, and smiles weakly at him, tugging the covers up closer to her body. “Dip-Dop,” she murmurs, “Good morning…”  
“Hello, sis,” he ruffles her hair affectionately before checking her forehead, which is warm but sweaty to the touch, meaning that her fever has begun to mercifully break. “Stan has made breakfast. Do you think you can eat?”  
She laughs faintly. “If his cooking hasn’t changed, then I can try my best.”  
He laughs with her. “We’re all in the same boat, then. Come on, can you stand?”  
It takes several minutes getting her on her feet and down the stairs, her breaths shallow and ragged as she hobbles down the steps slowly, unsteadily, and Dipper stays beside her, supporting her weight to the best of his ability. Yesterday Stan wouldn’t drop the topic on how skinny Dipper and Mabel have become (“Like a pair of walking skin and bones,” he grunted over his newspaper) and worried over them in his bizarre grunkle-kind-of way.   
“It’s a miracle you haven’t blown away yet,” he burped late last night, frowning pointedly at Dipper’s exposed ribs over the kitchen table. “What do they feed you in that damned town; wood shavings? Even a rat would feed you better than they do.”  
That Dipper had no response to; he was never very good at socializing anyway, and Stan barreled on, mercilessly.   
“What have you been doing for work anyway, Dipper? How have you helped supported your sister?”  
At this, Dipper was somewhat embarrassed. “Well,” he muttered, “Any kind of work that popped up…”  
“And Mabel? Was she able to find any work? Being a maid, nurse, or cook, perhaps? As a girl she’d be lucky to even earn a penny’s worth a week.”  
“She...She had a tailoring business.” Dipper doesn’t look at his grunkle now, he can’t bear to. “I couldn’t help out, really, I’d deliver the stitching and such, but when it came to sewing I couldn’t do it for the life of me. But she had to close down because of her illness, so…”  
“Your sister was doing more work than you!” Stan seemed outraged at this, making Dipper shy away slightly. “You couldn’t find one good paying job to stick with? You couldn’t even learn how to sew?”  
“I-I wanted to do more! I hated being so unhelpful! I just…” He’s unused to defending himself; he’s grown accustomed to being submissive and obedient, after all, he’s just scum off the street curb. He doesn’t deserve any better. “I wanted to do more, but jobs were so little and few. I was lucky enough to find anything at all.”  
Stan exploded. “DIPPER YOU ARE THE MAN YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SUPPORTING YOUR SISTER, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!”  
Dipper flinched away, paralyzed slightly in response to the sudden lash of words, and Wendy and Soos rushed in, yelling at Stan to stop, Dipper’s had a rough time, give him a break, and Dipper fled while it unfolded, unnoticed, something he was actually good at.   
He’s unsure of how Stan will react seeing him last night; will he yell again? Not feed him? Act as if his great-nephew doesn’t exist? Mabel doesn’t notice his worries, in fact she has a slightly spring in her sprightly step, energy beginning to return to her small frame. She never really struggled with life, unlike Dipper, she was capable of taking whatever it threw and powering through it; from finding a job, paying off debts, to facing off a disease that rampantly destroyed her body. She even put up with Dipper with a smiling face, hooking her arm in his and pulling him insistently along.  
The kitchen unfolds warmly before them; a potbellied-iron stove, a whistling kettle, drapes pulled from the windows and pots stacked almost comically high in the sink, the soft brown wood of the table, the smell of food enriching the very oxygen itself. Wendy and Soos are spilling golden syrup over their pancakes, mounds of butter speared by knives and smeared over them, jams and jellies shoveled to cover up the bitter taste of burned pancake. Wendy is laughing, her ribbons of red hair braided and out of the danger of falling into the syrup, Soos’s plate stacked high with pancakes and absolutely coated in toppings.   
Upon seeing Mabel the two leap up however, breakfast forgotten, and smash her into a tight hug, Mabel squeaking out a weak “I might be contagious!” before disappearing between their arms, only the top of her head barely visible.   
“I thought you’d never wake up!” Soos booms, shaking Mabel slightly.  
“I was worried about you, little missy!” Wendy’s face is brushed with a slight blush from the pressure of Soos’s arms encompassing her and Mabel, her body awkwardly bent to fit snugly into the embrace. “How are you feeling?”  
“Crushed!” Mabel’s voice is barely audible and the two step apart, grinning at her. Stan shoos the two away before looking his great-niece up and down, his hand scratching at his prickly chin. Finally, he nods to her, ruffling her hair, and says “Good to see on your feet, kiddo.”   
Mabel smiles sweetly, scuffing her feet slightly. “Thanks for taking us in, grunkle. It means a lot.”  
“Whatever, just sit and eat. You’ll need to fill up that stomach of yours; that’s the first step to getting better.” He waves dismissively at the table and Mabel hurries to claim a seat, piling pancakes onto her empty plate.  
Dipper stands off to the side, watching this, arms crossed slightly and body leaned against the doorway thoughtfully. He almost feels unwelcome, like he just witnessed an intimate moment between a family he’s not part of. Oddly, he never really has felt like he belongs in it in the first place. His twin is so outgoing and strong, his whole family is, in fact, except him. After all, he’s the first Pine member to try to drown himself in bitter sea.   
“Dipper,” Grunkle Stan is calling to him, and Dipper looks up somewhat embarrassedly, trying to decipher the expression on his Grunkle’s face. “Come eat, we need to beef you up.” He’s not looking at Dipper, instead gazing anywhere but at Dipper’s face. “We don’t want you to get sick like your sister, after all.”

And strangely, this odd, mismatching family continues to keep drawing him in.

It’s beginning to warm up when Dipper embarks into the woods, eager for some fresh air, enjoy the change of scenery, and try to straighten his thoughts. It’s a whole different feeling from winter in the city; ice slicking the cobblestone streets and storefronts, icicles dangling from the eaves of hunched buildings and shops, here in the woods the winter is almost an untamed beast, covering everything in a silent blanket of white, making the trees seem stark and black against the ivory frosting. It feels wild, powerful almost, when in the city it was simply a hindrance and annoyance. The sky is solid gray, the birds sounding muffled and distant, the thin ice crunching in complaint under Dipper’s shoes, crows peering at him with those glittering ebony eyes from their perches among the bare and spindly tree branches, silent, observant. He feels like if he breathes too loudly the scene will fall apart around him, like a thin sheet of glass shattered underfoot.   
There’s a rustle behind him and he whips to see a wolf standing behind him, rising out of the trees like a ghost, thick gray fur, large paws, its ruff glittering with frost and its black nose twitching slightly, steam rising from its flared nostrils. It pauses, watching him, its butterscotch eyes slit slightly, ears pricked and hackles raised slightly in obvious caution. It doesn’t blink once, it doesn’t breathe loudly, its paw hanging still in the cold, dead air, mid-step.   
Dipper is frozen, watching it somewhat fearfully, and doesn’t dare move, he’s caught in the predator’s cool, calculated gaze, and the wolf seems to ease slightly, looking at him in almost boredom, eyes half-lidded, breath coming in a soft huff as it puts its paw to the earth, watching him steadily.   
“I wouldn’t be good to eat,” Dipper mutters to it, and only its ears twitch, catching the sound. “I am all skin and bones. No meat on me.”  
The wolf watches him, silent, muscles visibly rippling under its thick fur as it takes a single step closer, still peering at him. Dipper’s heart is racing and the wolf’s ears twitch, as if it can hear the rapid pounding from within Dipper’s chest, and it takes another step, as if lured by it.   
“Please go away,” Dipper says plaintively. “Please just go.”  
At the sound of his voice again it comes closer, several steps now, not afraid, golden eyes glittering maliciously from its frost-eaten face, and it parts its jaws, fangs glittering from behind its lips, and its pink tongue lolls as it spits something onto the snow below, quickly licking its snout before taking off again, like a fish slipping silkily between the trees before fading silently into the distance, its paw marks the only sign it was ever there in the first place. Dipper’s breath is caught as he approaches where the wolf once stood, a single piece of paper laying flat on the snow, soaked through by the wolf’s hot saliva and the melting ice, but the ink clearly visible on it:

The darkness is inside you too, Pine Tree. 

 

End of Chapter 7


End file.
